“You guys are back here snacking?” I asked, although the answer was obvious.
“Well, we were going to call you in, but you were helping customers,” Viv said. She looked slightly shamefaced when she added, “And then we forgot.”
“Uh-huh,” I said. I stuck my hand in the bag of cheese-and-onion-flavored potato rings. They fit perfectly onto the ends of my fingers, and I munched on them to stave off the hunger I felt coming on strong.
“Don’t tell me you all lost track of time,” Harrison said as he walked into the room behind me.
Viv glanced at the clock. “Ah! Is that the time? Andre’s gallery opening! We have to hurry.”
Fee hopped off her seat and lifted a garment bag from where it was hanging on one of the supply closet doors.
“All right if I change upstairs?” she asked.
“Absolutely,” Viv said. “Use the guest bedroom.”
Fee hurried out of the room, brushing by Harrison as she went. They smiled at each other.
“Come on, Scarlett,” Viv said. “We can clean up the mess later.”
“I’ll get it sorted,” Harrison offered.
I was sipping out of Viv’s glass, which she took out of my hands. Apparently, I wasn’t moving fast enough for her, as she grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the door.
“Keep an eye on the shop, Harry!” I cried as we left the room. I saw him frown. I knew he hated that nickname, so naturally I used it as often as possible.
“Will do, Ginger!” he called back.
Unlike him, I liked my nickname, especially when he said it. I was relieved that I had my back to him, so he couldn’t see my face get warm.
As we hurried up the stairs, Viv glanced at me.
“Are you blushing?” she asked.
“Certainly not,” I said.
“Then why are your cheeks so pink?” she persisted.
“I’m allergic to potato rings,” I lied.
“Is that a euphemism for being allergic to Harrison?” she asked.
Her bright-blue eyes might as well have been laser beams. We crossed through the flat and paused by her door. I forced myself to meet her gaze with a bland look of my own. I refused to acknowledge her words on the grounds that I might incriminate myself.
“We’d better hurry,” I said. “We don’t want Andre to think we stood him up.”
I slipped through the door that led up the stairs to my room and the guest bedroom before Viv could say another word.
I closed my door and hurried over to my closet. I did not like Harrison that way I assured myself. Yes, he was handsome and charming when he wanted to be, but he was also insufferably bossy.
After my last relationship had caused me global humiliation—no, not exaggerating—I had promised myself that I would take a year off from dating men. As my mother had pointed out to me, the longest I had ever gone without a boyfriend was two weeks. She thought perhaps a relationship sabbatical would be good for me.
I was quite sure that if I was responding to Harrison at all, it was merely because I had not had a boyfriend in a few months, a personal best, and was therefore much more susceptible to any male presence. See? Perfectly reasonable.
Earlier, I had picked out the dress I was going to wear to the art opening. It was my classic little black dress: very flattering but also very unassuming. Suddenly, however, I felt the need for something with a little more zip zap. I shuffled through my closet until I found my Tadashi Shoji party dress. A formfitting aqua textured lace with sheer tulle trim, this was not a dress to be ignored. I slipped it on and then added a pair of beige open-toed pumps.
I put my red hair up in a twist, freshened up my makeup and I was ready. This was exactly what I needed to take my mind off of any inappropriate thoughts about Harrison. After all, the art show was sure to have loads of men there. I could flirt with abandon and get it out of my system, thus stopping myself from being an idiot over Harry.
When I stepped out into the hallway, I bumped into Fee coming out of the guest bedroom. We stared at one another for a moment, neither one of us speaking as we took in the absolutely horrific sight before us.
We were wearing the same dress!
Chapter 11
Fee bit her lip as she gazed at me. “It looks better on you.”
“No, it doesn’t,” I sighed. I wished I were lying, but no. Fee was all youthful curves and long legs. She looked amazing.
“We could go as twins, yeah?” Fee offered with a shy smile.
I grimaced. “That’d make me the ugly sister. I don’t think my ego could take it.”
“It would not,” Fee said with a laugh. “You look gorgeous. Honestly, I don’t fancy being seen with you in the same dress because I would be the hideous one.”
“No worries,” I said. “I’ll go change.”
“Are you sure?” Fee asked. “I’d offer to, but I don’t have any other dresses here.”
“Absolutely, not a problem,” I said. “You go ahead. I’ll be right down.”
Fee nodded and headed down the stairs. I sighed and went back into my room. It appeared it was going to be the demure little black dress after all.
Viv insisted that we all wear hats to Andre’s art show, as she never missed an opportunity to advertise the shop. Since I was wearing black, I decided to jazz things up and wear a black pillbox hat with a nest of fluffy white feathers in the front that had long black eyelash feathers bursting out of it. It was very Audrey Hepburn and made me feel a bit less dowdy.
Fee found a hat to match our dress. It was an aqua fascinator in the shape of a bow that had a pouf of matching netting that draped just over her forehead. Viv was wearing a chemise in shimmering pewter. She added black elbow-length gloves and wore a black cloche with a pewter hatband. She let her long blonde curls hang loose down her back.
Walking to Andre’s gallery, which was just down Portobello Road from Mim’s Whims, I felt like I was the ugly duckling in a flock of swans. I tried to shake it off, but as Fee and Harrison walked ahead of Viv and me with their heads pressed together as they talked, I found myself getting more and more grumpy.
“I think we need to spread out and work the room,” Viv said as we walked.
“Huh,” I replied not really listening. Fee had just laughed and brushed her shoulder up against Harrison’s. I couldn’t imagine what he might have said that could have been that funny.
“Andre said a reporter from the Times will be there to take pictures and do a write-up for the Arts section,” Viv said. “I think we should try to get into those photos.”
“Sure,” I said.
“You know, if you were to rip off your dress and twirl it over your head, that would really get their attention,” Viv said.
“Sounds good,” I said.
“Scarlett! You are not listening to a word I say!” she accused.
“What?” I asked. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I’m not going to rip my dress off in public. I’ve had more than my share of notoriety, thank you very much.”
Viv pursed her lips as she considered me. I blinked.
She glanced ahead at Fee and Harrison. “Those two seem awfully chummy.”
“Really?” I asked. Harrison stood at the door to Andre’s gallery, holding it open for us. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Uh-huh,” Viv said. She patted Harrison’s cheek as she walked past him into the gallery.
I did not. In fact, I didn’t acknowledge him at all but strode into the gallery with my head held high.
“Scarlett, there’s my girl!” a voice cried.
I glanced across the room to see Nick Carroll, Andre’s life partner, striding toward me with his hands outstretched. He grabbed my upper arms and we did the air-kiss thing on both cheeks.
“Well, aren’t you a vision,” Nick said.
“Thank you
,” I said and I gave a practiced twirl. I looked him over. “Nick, you look positively debonair.”
He really did. His blond hair was thinning, but he had obviously plumped it up with some well-used product. He wore a pinstripe navy suit over a light-blue dress shirt, which was open at the throat.
“Shall we strut and preen and show off?” he asked.
“Yes, definitely,” I said and put my hand on his arm.
Andre and Nick had been working on the gallery for months. This was the grand opening, and it was packed to bursting with people trying to see and be seen.
A waiter paused beside us and Nick snagged us each a glass of champagne. We worked our way toward the back of the room, where we could see Andre talking animatedly to a group of people.
“He’s really in his element, isn’t he?” Nick asked.
Andre was dressed in black trousers and a white loose-fitting dress shirt with a rich plum-colored vest over it. His dark skin and close-cropped hair accentuated his fine-boned good looks. He looked like a rock star and had the requisite solar system of women orbiting around him to prove it.
“Those girls are doomed to disappointment,” I said to Nick.
He grinned. “Oh no, most of them know he’s my partner. They just want him to take pictures of them, sort of like they want me to fix their teeth. They are users, one and all.”
“Which is fine, since they fill out the party, don’t they?” I asked.
“Indeed they do,” he said.
Another waiter stopped by and we helped ourselves to the cherry tomatoes stuffed with pesto.
“There are some salt-and-pepper cheese puffs circling about,” Nick said. “Keep an eye out.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
I scanned the room, looking for Viv. She was easy to spot. She was standing in front of one of Andre’s cityscapes, talking to two older gentlemen and their wives. I could tell she was chatting about the shop, as she touched the brim of her hat with a gloved hand.
“Beg pardon, Mr. Carroll,” a waiter joined us. “We have a small situation in the kitchen.”
“What sort of situation?” Nick asked around the tomato in his mouth.
“A fire,” the waiter said.
“Gah!” Nick waved to me as he shot off across the room toward the back of the building.
“It was just a small one,” the waiter said, following him. “We got it out.”
I watched them go, wondering if this was cause to evacuate. I glanced up. I didn’t see a sprinkler system. Then again, that would be bad for the photographs.
I dropped my small plastic plate and napkin into a trash can. I supposed it was time to do my duty and work the room, except I didn’t really feel up to being my usual charming self. I scanned the crowd, looking for a flash of aqua. Given how tall Fee was in her platform heels, it didn’t take me long to spot her. To my surprise, there was no sign of Harrison hanging on her every word.
I turned around, checking to see where he might be. Not that I cared, I told myself. I was just trying to keep track of the people I had come with, which was only polite.
“Looking for someone?” a voice asked from behind me.
I turned to find Harrison standing there. My breath caught in surprise, but I refused to show it. Instead I gave him a closed-lip smile and said, “Just assessing the situation.”
“And what have you determined?” he asked.
“That Andre’s gallery is destined to be a success,” I said.
“To Andre,” Harrison said and lifted his glass.
“To Andre,” I repeated. We clinked glasses and I took a sip of the crisp, fruity champagne.
“Have you had the tiny tomatoes?” I asked. “They’re very good.”
“No, I missed those,” he said.
He glanced over my head in the direction where I’d seen Fee. Now, that was just rude. I frowned at him.
“What?” he asked when he met my gaze.
“If you’re so bored with me, you can go elsewhere,” I said.
“I’m not bored,” he said.
“Yeah, that’s why you’re looking right around me at someone who is entirely too young for you,” I snapped.
He was in the middle of a sip when I spoke, and I must have caught him off guard, because he choked on his beverage and began to cough to clear his throat. His eyes were watering, and I could tell he really needed to have a good hacking fit to clear the airway.
“Come on,” I said. I took his glass and put it down with mine on a nearby table, then I led him by the arm out the front door to the street, where he could let loose with a coughing jag.
It was quieter out here. The dull roar of the crowd was replaced by the occasional rumble of a car going past. Until Harrison burst into a coughing fit that was so violent, it hushed the birds chirping in the nearby trees. I thumped his back, possibly with more force than was strictly necessary, but hey, I was trying to help.
When his cough diminished to a small wheeze, I ceased whacking him.
“Better now?” I asked.
“Yeah, thanks,” he said. His voice was gruff and a tear leaked out of the corner of his right eye.
“Excellent,” I said. I made to go back into the gallery, but Harrison stopped me by catching my hand in his and tugging me back.
“Not so fast, Ginger,” he said. His green eyes narrowed. “What exactly did you mean I was looking around you at someone entirely too young for me?”
“Nothing,” I said. I tried to pull my fingers out of his grasp but he tightened his hold.
“I don’t believe you,” he said.
I gave him my best affronted look. I even put my free hand over my chest in a protestation of shocked innocence.
“No, still don’t believe you,” he said.
“Well, that’s just—” I began, but he interrupted.
“Spill it,” he said. “Who do you think I was looking at?”
“Fee,” I said.
“Oh, well, I was looking for her.”
“Aha!” I poked him in the chest with my finger. “I knew it.”
Chapter 12
“Knew what?” he asked. He rubbed the spot where I’d jabbed him.
“She’s too young for you,” I said. “You could be her father.”
Harrison’s eyes widened in surprise, and he said, “Perhaps if I’d spawned her when I was eight.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “That’s a huge age difference.”
“You are mental,” he said. “I can’t believe you think . . . ugh . . . I refuse to participate in this conversation any further.”
He strode past me, back into the gallery. Viv was just coming outside, and he brushed past her without even checking his stride.
“What’s got Harrison’s knickers in a knot?” Viv asked.
“He’s just being oversensitive because I said that Fee is too young for him,” I said.
“Is there a reason you felt the need to point that out?” she asked.
She was holding a glass of champagne in her gloved hand, and she took a sip while she waited for my answer.
I glanced at the gallery behind us, but I couldn’t see either Fee or Harrison through the windows. I did see Viv’s and my reflections. In our party dresses and hats, we looked like we belonged on the cover of a vintage Vogue. I turned away.
“I just thought the obvious might be escaping him,” I said. I reached out and took Viv’s glass out of her hand and helped myself to a fortifying sip.
“Scarlett, jealousy does not become you,” Viv said.
“What?” I gasped. “I am not jealous!”
One of Viv’s delicate eyebrows rose higher than the other as she considered me.
“Really? Then why meddle with whatever might be happening between Fee and Harrison?” she asked.
�
�He’s eight years older than her!” I protested.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Viv said, “but wasn’t the blighter who broke your heart ten years older than you?”
“Exactly, my point,” I said. It wasn’t, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t cling to it like a life raft in the North Sea.
“Harrison isn’t like that,” Viv said. “He’s a good man and just because he is a few years older doesn’t mean he’s a lying, cheating git.”
“I know, but Fee is so young and innocent,” I said. “She really needs to be dating people her own age.”
Viv studied me for a moment. I didn’t like the look in her eye.
“What?” I asked.
“Jealous,” she said in a singsong voice.
“No, I’m not,” I said. Why are family members so good at twanging your last nerve like a banjo string?
“You can’t escape your nature,” she said.
“Now, what’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“Do you remember when we were teenagers and that silly musician boy liked you?” she asked.
I sighed. I did not like the direction this conversation was headed.
“No, I don’t,” I said. I drained her glass and handed it back to her.
“He was a swarthy, dark-haired fellow named Chad or Todd or something like that,” Viv said. “He was completely uninteresting to you until Chrissy Hupper took a shine to him.”
“I have no recollection of this,” I said. Big, fat lie. I still remembered Chrissy. Still hated her, too.
She was one of those girls who didn’t have any girlfriends. I always consider that an indicator of whether a woman can be trusted. If a woman has no female friends, there is usually a reason why. In Chrissy’s case, it was because she loathed any competition in the wide-open field of men.
She tagged around with all of the boys in the neighborhood, preening under their attention. She didn’t like it if any other girls cut into her turf, so needless to say she was less than thrilled when Viv and I appeared on the scene.
Chrissy spent a lot of time making fun of my American accent and making me feel like an idiot because I didn’t know all of the local slang and television references that the neighborhood kids shared. She was particularly irritated by me because the silly musician boy liked me so much.
Death of a Mad Hatter (A Hat Shop Mystery) Page 9